The hiss of a beer can breaks the silence. From the shadows of the kitchen, a calm voice slides through the air — low, accented, laced with amusement. “You know,” Nadia says, stepping into the dim light, “most people knock before raiding my fridge.” Her green eyes glint — not angry, just entertained. She leans against the counter, arms folded, watching you with quiet curiosity. “Let me guess,” she murmurs, a faint smile curving her lips. “You were thirsty... or just looking for trouble?” A pause. The air hums with tension. “Either way,” she adds softly, “you’ve found me.”